Tutor
by AlessNox
Summary: Sequel to Prodigy - Robert Bell meets a teen-aged Sherlock Holmes who isn't sure what he wants to be when he grows up. In fact, he's not sure that he ever wants to grow up.
1. One

It was Tuesday around lunch time, almost exactly two years from their last meeting over a pot of tea, when Robert Bell met Sherlock Holmes again. Despite living for years in the city, this was the first time that he had come to the History of Science Museum. He had been having a correspondence with a historian who he had met over cheese dip at a local conference. She had talked of the problems of explaining the relevance of historical events in science when most people couldn't understand the science involved. Robert had been helping her with an exhibit on the discovery of gases. Today he brought some papers and photographs from the university archives that he thought that she might find interesting and relevant.

He entered the large lobby and for a moment he stood with his eyes closed listening to the echoes of visitor footfalls. He turned then to see a secondary school group enter the museum. They walked across the floor, their voices and footsteps raising the noise level in the lobby by several decibels. They traipsed by in identical colored coats like a school of brightly colored ocean fish. He lost interest and walked toward the receptionist's desk, waiting as the red-haired woman behind the desk talked on the phone. He thought that her yellow polka-dotted dress looked a bit old fashioned, but perhaps that was appropriate in a museum of history.

He turned then looking around the room and his eye was caught by a dark-haired teen who had strayed behind his class. He was leaning over the barrier attempting to touch an antique microscope. Robert was considering bringing this to the guard's attention when the boy turned, and he saw his face.

"Sherlock?" he said.

Despite the fact that he was on the other side of the room, the young man seemed to have heard him, because he turned to face Robert. His eyes narrowed and then widened, and his mouth fell open for a brief second before he closed it again adopting an expression of bored detachment. He rushed away then to catch up with his tour group.

Robert stared after him for a moment, surprised at the changes that only two years had made. Sherlock Holmes, for there was no one else it could be, was tall and whip thin. His face had become longer and his cheekbones more pronounced. He had a way of slouching while he stood that suggested that he was only biding his time until something interesting should come along. He had large feet and long legs that gave him the look of someone awkward and off balance, but he moved with a graceful loping walk that reminded Robert of a tiger strolling toward a kill.

The class rounded the corner then and he was gone. Robert considered for a moment going after them, but the receptionist hung up the phone so he smiled and said, "Good Afternoon, is Lucille Sharma here? Tell her that Robert Bell would like to speak with her if she has a moment."

"One moment, please," the receptionist said yawning before taking another phone call.

Robert placed the envelope with his research down on the desk and tapped his fingers impatiently. He was startled then to feel a tugging on the back of his coat. He turned to find himself looking into the blue-grey eyes of young Sherlock Holmes. It was a strange feeling not to have to look down at him anymore.

"Hello Sherlock," he said.

"Hello Dr. Bell."

"How did you know that I had received my doctorate?"

"It is a matter of public record. You aren't implying that I'm too young to read are you?"

Robert laughed, and the ghost of a smile appeared on Sherlock's face. Until then he had been keeping his face neutral. Now the edge of his lip turned up and his eyes shone. Robert reached out and held the boy's shoulders, debating with himself whether a hug would be in order, but the stiff way that Sherlock held himself suggested not. Robert gave his shoulder a pat instead and dropped his arms. "Good to see you again. You've grown. So, how have you been keeping yourself these days? "

"Fine," Sherlock said sheepishly.

"Dr. Bell?" the woman at the desk said finally. "Dr. Sharma has gone for the day. Do you have a message for her?"

"Yes, can you give her this when she gets in?"

"Sure."

"Good afternoon," he said, but she was already on the phone again.

Robert turned away from the desk to find Sherlock staring at him. He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and led him away from the desk. "So aren't you supposed to be with your group?"

"I told the teacher I needed to go to the lavatory. It will be a while before they send someone looking for me. So what are you doing here? Dr. Sharma?"

"I was just helping out a colleague."

"Oh," Sherlock said.

"I miss you in lab. The students don't seem to want to put in any effort anymore. When you were in class, even the poor students would put in a bit extra effort so that no one would say that a kid did a better job than they did in lab."

"But I did do a better job than they did!"

"Of course you did. So, are you taking any science classes now?"

"None that you would call a science class."

"Well, what about your other classes? Which ones do you like?"

"At the moment, I can't think of any."

"Come now, there must be something about school that you like."

"I like how gullible the teachers are, and how easy it is to scale the wall."

"Sherlock, that's hardly the right attitude for a future scholar."

"I don't want to be a scholar."

"What? Are you going to go into government service then, like your brother?"

"Oh please don't bring him up. I've heard enough about my brother this year to make me fear for the future of this country. Oh, Mycroft's got another promotion! Why can't you be more like him? You need to make a good impression. You don't want to do anything that might harm his chances for advancement, like going to jail for shoplifting or for removing all of the nails from your stupid teacher's chair so that it collapses when he sits on it. No, I am definitely NOT going into government service, thank you. Not in this country at least."

"Shoplifting?"

"It was nothing. I was only practicing."

"Practicing what?"

"My pirate skills. Never know when they'll come in useful. Piracy used to be a respected profession for an Englishman. They knew how to steal, how to box, and fence, and shoot a pistol. My parents wanted me to have a classical education. I'm just trying to make it more ... authentic."

A woman rushed into the room then and looked around. Sherlock rolled his eyes as she stomped over toward them. "Mr Holmes, I've told you about going off on your own."

"Excuse me Miss..."

"Holland." The woman said noticing Robert for the first time. "I'm sorry if our student was disturbing you."

"Oh No, Miss Holland, he wasn't disturbing me. In fact, it is my fault that he did not return to his class. Let me introduce myself. I am Dr Bell, lecturer in Chemistry at the University. Sherlock here used to be my star pupil. When I saw him, I had to stop him in order to catch up. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get him into trouble."

"Why, Dr Bell. So glad to meet you. I understand if you wanted to catch up, of course. It's just that Sherlock here sometimes... but that's not important. It is so nice to meet such a distinguished academic here. I would love it if you might consider visiting our school on career day. Do you mind if I ask for your contact information."

Robert reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a card. He had ordered them the day after Lucy Sharma had asked him for one, and he was very proud of them because they were the first thing that had been printed with his new title on it.

She looked impressed. "Oh! Well I will certainly call you. Thank You. Sherlock, come along." Then she turned away. Robert slipped another card to Sherlock who hid it in his blazer pocket before following the teacher back out of the room with only one backward glance.


	2. Two

Robert sat in the lobby in his second best suit trying hard to keep from bouncing his knee up and down nervously. He was nervous though. The application had taken forever to fill out and most of the others had already heard their decision.

The receptionist called his name and he was ushered into the office of the Head of School. "Robert," he said with a smile on his face as he reached out to shake his hand. "Come in, come in."

Robert shook his hand and then took a seat in front of the desk only afterward wondering if he should have asked to sit. He started to rise again, but the head motioned him down again. "I'm glad that you could come today. How has term been going for you?"

"Good."

"That's good. You know I always hear good things about your class. The professors say that the students that have been in your lab always have a good grounding in the fundamentals. We really appreciate what you do there."

"Thank You."

"Well, good. Anyway, let's get to the point. We have your application here to be taken on as full-time faculty instead of the temporary instructor's job that you have been doing so far."

"Yes."

"Well, I took this before the committee and we talked about it for quite a long time, but I'm sorry to inform you that we don't feel it in our best interests to offer you a permanent position at this time."

"I see. Why not?"

"Well, It's not the teaching work that you do. You do good work, excellent work. Your students enjoy the lab and you get your paperwork in on time. You are very conscientious, it's just ... your research is not up to the caliber that we prefer at this institution."

"What's wrong with my research?"

"Well frankly, there's not enough of it, and it's not cutting edge. You haven't attracted any students to work with you. Our institution's reputation is dependent on the reputation of its instructors, and you have virtually no name internationally."

"I see. Should I apply again next year, after I've spent more time on my research?"

"Well, I wouldn't recommend that. I can't see the committee's decision changing simply because you put out another paper or two, but, you don't have to leave immediately. We have been very happy with your performance as a temporary instructor, and we will be more than happy to employ you for another year if you like. "

"That's good."

"Yes. I'm sorry about that, but I'll call around to some of my friends. See if there are any openings for an instructor at any other institutions. If I hear anything, I'll give you a call."

"I see. Thank You."

"You're very welcome. I'll see you at commencement."

Robert nodded and walked out of the office shaking the Head's hand once more before leaving. He walked out of the office and down the hall to the lab. He unlocked the door, left his bag on the desk, put on his coat, and left campus for the nearest bar.

Three glasses of vodka later, he was able to get a bit of perspective on the day's events. Of course they didn't want him. He wasn't doing controversial research. He wasn't popular among the faculty. He wasn't going places. So he returned his paperwork on time. No one respected punctuality anymore. No one respected precision, it was all about the WOW! the popular stuff that got printed up in the papers. No one saw the traditional scientists plugging away in the lab making the discoveries that moved the world further into the future. Oh no, it was all about who was on a talk show last night, and which professor was seen in that ITV documentary? They were perfectly willing to "allow" him to teach their students for another three terms. Perfectly fine with letting him do all the work for substandard pay. Well, forget them! He didn't need them! He'd find somewhere where his knowledge would be appreciated.

Robert downed the bottom third of his vodka and walked back to the lab. He sat down and wrote a very simple resignation letter. He would finish the term, It was almost over anyway, and then he would find another place to teach. How hard could it be?

It was only on the tube as he came closer and closer to the tiny flat that he had lived in for four years, that he realized his folly. "After this cheque," he said to himself, "I won't be getting any more money. If I had taken the offer that they had given me, I could have been employed while I was looking for a job. Now I'm just an out of work nobody."

It was too late now to try and fish the letter out of the post. Besides, it was undignified. He had made his decision, he'd have to stick with it. He unlocked his door and staggered in. Suddenly he felt tired as if the weight of this decision had somehow doubled his actual mass. He closed the door, and hung up his coat before noticing the smell, and the sound of sizzling. He walked slowly into the kitchen to find Sherlock Holmes in his kitchen burning some eggs.

"Hello!" Sherlock said dripping oil on the electric burner so that it smoked. "You can share some of my dinner if you like."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Robert said puzzled as Sherlock placed the eggs on a plate and brought it to the table. He look two forks out of the drawer, and then sat down.

"I was hungry, but you arrived just in time to have some."

"Sherlock Homes?"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"Why...How did you even know where I live?"

"From this." Sherlock said holding up Robert's ID card.

"Where ...when did you get that?"

"I thought that was obvious," Sherlock said. "I stole it from you in the museum on Tuesday."

"You pickpocketed me? But I didn't feel anything."

"Exactly what you would expect to feel if I had pickpocketed you."

"Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing here?"

"Eating."

"Obviously. What I wanted to know was why you are eating here instead of at that incredibly posh boarding school that your parents are sending you to? Is it the summer holidays already?"

"Hardly, I just couldn't take it anymore, so I decided to visit my old chemistry coach. Hello."

"Hello. It is good to see you, but it would also be good to see you off. You have to go back to school. I need to call someone, but I don't have the number of your school. I think that I have your brother's number somewhere though."

"No! Don't call. At least not yet. Have dinner first."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but this is not been a good day for me."

"I could guess that by your current state of inebriation. I've never seen you drunk before."

"I'm not drunk. I'm just a bit ...tipsy."

"Actually, Dr Bell, you are completely pissed."

Robert sat down at the table and looked at the half-eaten egg. The vision of the runny yolk upset his stomach and he rushed off to the toilet. It was certainly not the day that he would have chosen to babysit. He rinsed out his mouth. Took several swigs of water from the sink with the cup in the bathroom, then he staggered into his bedroom and lay on his bed with his hand over his eyes.

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again, he was in darkness, but he could see a red light glowing at the edge of his room. It dimmed and then glowed stronger, the red glow revealing the sharp outline of Sherlock's cheeks.

"Sherlock. You look incredibly...creepy standing there."

Sherlock walked forward into light of the window, and a thin stream of smoke rose skyward from his lips. "Are you alright Robert? Can I call you Robert?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"What happened? Why were you drinking? Was it ... Lucille?"

"Who?"

"Dr. Sharma. The woman whom you were going to see at the museum. You seemed upset to have missed her. Were you two ... together?"

Robert slowly raised himself up into a sitting position. His head was pounding. "Sherlock, come here," he said.

Sherlock walked to the edge of he bed, and Robert reached out for him grabbing his shoulder with his left hand. His other hand tore the cigarette out of his mouth and broke it in half. Its pieces fell on the bed in a spray of sparks that he had to beat out with his hands. "What the hell are you doing smoking, Sherlock? You can't be more than fourteen. I thought that you were smart."

"I am smart. Smart enough to know that you can't trust adults to tell the truth about anything."

Robert put his head in his hands and looked at the clock. It was after three. "I'm sorry, but it is entirely too early in the morning for me to be dealing with sarcasm. And can you tell me again why you're here?"

"Like I said, I just needed to get ... out."

"And you thought of me because?"

"I had to return your ID card, didn't I? You weren't coming to career day. I stole the card you gave Miss Holland so that she wouldn't mention you to Mycroft."

"Why would she mention me to Mycroft of all people?"

"Because she works for him. He pays her to watch me. He pays them all. That's why I haven't been expelled. People will do anything for money. But you haven't explained yet. Why are you drunk? Is it another woman?"

"No."

"A man then."

"Absolutely not. Why do you think that?"

"That's a reason for getting drunk, isn't it, failed relationships. Most people don't get drunk simply over chemistry. Are you getting drunk over chemistry?"

"Well, yes," Robert said. "I suppose that you could say that I'm getting drunk over chemistry. And yes, it is a failed relationship. Just one with an institution not a person. I just lost my job."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm leaving the University. I signed my resignation letter today."

"But... the only reason that I'm sticking with this farce of a school is so that I can go back to University and take your class again. I have two more years of government enforced servitude. You have to be there when I finish. Go and get your job back! Tear up the letter!"

"No, Sherlock."

"But!"

"No. Now curl up on the couch or something. I'm going to sleep off this headache. We'll talk more in the morning," he said and lay back down closing his eyes. When the morning came, however, Sherlock was gone, and the only evidence of his presence was the ID card on the table, and a pan of burnt eggs in the sink.


	3. Three

The long vacation had started, and for Robert it was likely to be very long indeed. He had mailed out his curriculum vitae to over two dozen institutions and had heard back exactly nothing.

He had lay down on the carpet with the intention to exercise, but once there, he had lost interest in it, or for that matter in getting up again. At the moment, he felt as low as his prospects, so he was more than a little surprised to see a pair of fine brown, Italian leather brogues walk up beside him.

He looked up to see a hawk-like nose and two bright blue eyes watching him, so he pushed himself to his feet. "Mycroft Homes, Good Morning. I didn't hear a knock."

"That's because I didn't knock."

"Pardon me, but why are you in my flat? Sherlock isn't here, you know."

"I know that he isn't here. He's at home."

"I see, then why are you here?"

"Obviously, I am here to see you."

Robert moved some books and papers off of the couch, hastily stacking them onto the floor, but Mycroft Holmes shook his head. "Thank you, but I'd rather stand."

Robert shrugged, and collapsed into a chair. He reached behind him then to pull clothing out from under his seat. "I'm sorry I can't offer you any tea. I'm out."

Mycroft pulled out his phone. He lifted it to his mouth and said, "Tea. Earl Grey. Twenty minutes."

Robert frowned. He hadn't planned on him staying that long. "How may I help you, Mr Holmes?"

"Dr. Bell, I have come to offer you a position as my brother's tutor."

"Tutor?" he said. "Sherlock told me that he wasn't studying chemistry anymore."

"He isn't."

"Then, what do you want me to tutor him in?"

"Life. I want you to tutor Sherlock in life."

"I don't understand."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "My brother is...that is, since you've known him, he has become ... a problem child."

Robert laughed at the words. " 'Problem Child'? Sounds like the name of some 'made for TV' movie. Why are you really here?"

"I am not speaking in jest. This is deadly serious."

"What's wrong?"

"My brother, Sherlock, has begun to act with increasingly reckless behavior. When he is warned of that behavior, it only worsens. He has taken up several bad habits such as, drinking and smoking, and has run away from school on fifteen separate occasions. I got him through to the end of term, but they will not accept him for another, no matter how much I pay."

"So, send him to a different school."

"We will. All of the arrangements have been made, except... Sherlock is not ready. He has no respect for his elders. He disrupts the classroom, destroys property. Even at home his conduct is... unbecoming of a Holmes. He needs someone to get him into line, to teach him how to behave. A role-model. A teacher. I believe that you would best fill that role."

Robert gestured at the room. "I'm not the best role-model, not now especially. My life is a mess."

"I may be able to help you with that. We will pay you for your work." Mycroft pulled a card out of his pocket and wrote a number down on it. He passed it to Robert who frowned down at it. The monthly salary seemed to be a bit less than what he made at university, until he noticed the extra zero at the end. "This is just your salary. We also will pay all reasonable expenses. And I notice that you happen to be available at the moment."

Robert stiffened. "Mr Holmes, did you by any chance have a hand in my University's decision to let me go?"

The edge of Mycroft's lip rose in a smile, "Very wise of you to ask, but no. The decision was made before I found out about it. When I heard, I took a look at the files. Only reasonable to look at your former employer's records. They fired you because you were too good at teaching."

"What?"

"You were too good at teaching. When you had to choose between spending time teaching classes or spending more time on research, you always chose teaching. The university does not make most of its money from teaching. The majority of funding in the sciences comes from research. The committee felt that an instructor who would spend more time on research would be better for them in the long run. I, on the other hand, wish to employ you to teach, so you suit me perfectly."

Robert felt anger growing in his chest. There was always talk of such things, but to hear it from Mycroft Holmes made it seem so real and matter of fact. They had fired him because he was good, because he had succeeded. He needed time to stew, time to be alone. "I'm not interested, Mr Holmes. Please leave now."

"If it's a problem with the money..."

"No. I just need to be alone."

For a brief second, panic crossed the man's face. Then he clasped his hands before his lips and looked down. "Is it alright if I sit down for a moment?"

Robert nodded. Mycroft pulled up his trousers at the knee, and sat. Then he crossed his hands over his knees and looked directly into Robert's eyes. "Dr. Bell, I haven't been entirely frank with you. I am offering you a position as Sherlock's tutor, that is true, but the reason is not simply to help him survive another year in school, it is to help him to survive at all.

"My brother does not wish to live in this world. Unfortunately, he does not understand that this is the only world available. There was a time when he respected my opinion. When he respected the opinion of others. As he has grown older, the number of people whose opinions he values has dwindled. At this time, I believe that you are the only person left that he will listen to."

"Are you concerned that he might... harm himself?"

"I don't know what he'll do. He has gone beyond my ability to control. I worry about him, constantly."

Robert looked at Mycroft Holmes' concerned face, then he remembered Sherlock's voice: "_He pays her to watch me. He pays them all. That's why I haven't been expelled. People will do anything for money._"

"Let me see him, talk to him." Robert said, "I need to know what he thinks about this."

"Certainly. Thank You, Dr. Bell."

Mycroft rose to his feet just as a young lady walked in with an insulated bag. "Excellent! Please serve Dr. Bell some tea, Angela."

The extremely attractive woman in heels bent over then placing the bag on the floor as she cleared off the table next to Robert. She put her hand on his shoulder when he tried to rise. Then she unzipped the bag, and placed a china tea set decorated with pink roses onto the table. She poured the tea and placed two cubes of sugar in it stirring before adding the milk, just as he liked it. Then she passed the dainty cup and saucer to Robert with a bow before picking up the bag and leaving.

"But the tea set?"

"Keep it, as a sign of our good will. I will send Sherlock to you tomorrow. Have a good day, Dr. Bell."

"Good day," Robert said stunned. He watched surprised as Mycroft Holmes let himself out locking the door from the outside with a key. Then Robert took a sip of the tea. It was excellent.


	4. Four

Robert was still cleaning the next morning when Sherlock Holmes let himself into the flat with a key.  
"Don't you Holmeses ever knock?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked walking toward Robert and waiting expectantly, a slight smile on his face. He was carrying a backpack, probably containing a change of clothes and, instead of the uniform that he had seen him in before, he was wearing black jeans and a dark blue jumper of some very expensive yarn, perhaps Angora. It looked like he had come to stay.

"Take a seat, Sherlock?"

Sherlock put down his bag and sat on the couch. Robert propped his broom against the wall and sat down in the arm chair. "So has your brother explained his plan of hiring me as your tutor."

"Yes," Sherlock said bouncing a bit and leaning forward.

"And what do you think about it?"

"I think that it's the first intelligent thing he's done for me in years."

"So you want to be my pupil again. What is it you want to learn?"

"You know. The thing about people, how to read them, how to understand them."

"I see. You understand that if I agree to be your teacher, I will not be easy on you. I will demand much of you, and if you do not meet my expectations then I will dismiss you and you must go back home. Are you willing to follow my orders?"

"Yes."

"Even though they may counteract with what you want to do, or what you like? Even if they hurt, or are difficult?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. He was curious and excited by this. "Yes."

"You should say 'yes, sir'."

"Yes, sir."

"If I accept you as a student you will not smoke. You will not drink alcohol unless I specifically say that you can, and you will, outside of our tutoring hours, conduct yourself in a manner that is appropriate to your position in society."

"Outside of our tutoring hours? I thought that I was coming to live with you?"

"Did you? I suppose we will have to discuss the terms more specifically at a later date. I will continue to be looking for a position for the autumn term. I don't expect this to last much past the beginning of term. It is very likely that at the end of the summer I will be moving to another city. I might even leave the country. My plans are not yet fixed."

Sherlock's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

"There is, however, one point that I will be completely inflexible on. I will not accept your brother's money. I will not work for him."

Sherlock jumped to his feet. His breath rapid. "But I thought, but you said, do you mean you won't teach me?"

"That's not what I said, Sherlock. If you wish me to become your tutor, you will have to pay me yourself."

"Myself? But...I don't have any money. There's a trust fund, but I don't have access."

"Discuss it with your brother. Borrow money if you must, but I will only do this is I am working for you. I am not agreeing to control you or to babysit you. I will be employed to teach you. Is this what you want?"

"Yes, but ... how much? I mean ... I've never hired anyone before."

"Then I will be your first."

"You mean you will do it? If I can agree to your terms, and find the money."

"Yes. I'd be happy to."

Sherlock grinned from ear to ear. "I'll go talk to Mycroft. You stay here," he said before running from the room.

Robert crossed his ankles and shook his head. Sherlock was so painfully earnest at times. He didn't know what to expect from him. One thing that he had known, however, was that Sherlock would never trust him if he was working for his brother. Sherlock could be creepy, but his brother was absolutely distressing at times.

He would take this time to teach Sherlock how to get along with others. It would be an interesting interlude between one phase of his life and the next, his "Summer of Sherlock". He rose from the chair, picked up his broom, and continued sweeping the kitchen.

He received a phone call that evening inviting him to a meeting. A black car came for him and drove him to an expensive home with a gate and a large lawn. He walked up to the door and was ushered into a large dining room with wooden chairs upholstered in a rich tan velvet, the paneled windows containing colored stained-glass crests, and life-size statues on horseback no less.

He sat on one side of the table. Mycroft and Sherlock sat side by side on the other. Mycroft pushed a paper across the table toward him. He snagged it with his forefinger and thumb, pulling it toward him to read.

Appointment terms, renewable month to month with an initial appointment of three months. A flat in the city. A cottage in the county. A dedicated car and driver. An expense account. Plane fare on request subject to approval. A child could afford this? Unlikely. He pushed it back.

"I thought that Sherlock was employing me? Are you telling me that this child can employ a full time chauffeur?"

"The chauffeur belongs to the estate. He is on loan as are the other items listed. They belong to the family, and Sherlock is allowed the use of them. Your salary will go directly from his trust fund to your account and believe me, he will be paying us back. Do not concern yourself about that."

Robert glanced at Sherlock. He was staring at his brother who wore that same half-smile he had seen before. He picked up the pen and signed. Sherlock took the form and signed next to him, and Mycroft signed as witness.

He rose to go, stopping at the door as the butler helped him put on his coat. Mycroft held out a hand and he shook it. Then Sherlock came from another room. He was wearing a brown coat, a backpack, and dragging a suitcase behind him. The butler opened the door and they walked together out of the mansion. Robert climbed into the car.

"Where are we going?" he asked Sherlock as he climbed in after him.

"To your flat, unless you want to go to the other flat, or the cottage."

"No, home is good."

Sherlock nodded and then leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He was asleep by the time they reached the gate. Robert looked at the boy... man... boy. This was going to work out, wasn't it? He had never had custody of a child before. He lay back and tried to get some rest himself.


	5. Five

The next morning, Robert woke and dressed as if going to work. Then on his way to the kitchen to make some toast for breakfast, he saw Sherlock lying asleep in the couch and froze, suddenly remembering all that he had signed himself up for.

He frowned. He was no guru. He held no great wisdom on which to base a life. What was he supposed to be doing for an entire summer? Teaching life? What did that mean? And he wasn't living it to his fullest anyway.

For the last few years he had been living quietly. Trying to keep his head down and do what he had to do to become faculty. Well it hadn't worked the way he had planned. Maybe this was the end of his academic career. Maybe he should go back to school, get a PGCE, and teach younger kids. But no. Now was not the time for this kind of thought. He needed to go some place relaxing to clear his brain.

Sherlock woke up then and went to the bathroom, so he made some toast, and offered it to Sherlock when he staggered in a few minutes later wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, his curly hair all disheveled from sleep.

"Take a shower and put on some clothes. We're going on a trip."

Sherlock looked up at him and shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth before going toward his backpack to find some clothes. Soon they were out among the crowds.

They took a train and then walked and walked down cobblestone streets. Sherlock trudged behind him not knowing where he was going, and apparently not caring. Luckily Robert knew where he was going.

It was one of his favorite places. One of the places he went when he wanted to think.

His first year, a biologist had taken him under his wing. He was an odd chap, always after samples of bugs and pond scum. On a number of weekends, he had dragged Robert out to the river to get samples. Not to the scenic river views to be found beside exclusive housing communities, no. They went to dirty areas lined with concrete. Places found by climbing over fences and pushing through scrub, full of mud, and gnats, and algae that made the man chuckle with glee. Yes, he was an odd fellow. But one day when they were coming back from a particularly annoying expedition, Robert had found a lovely restaurant.

They stopped under a yellow awning, and pushed open the door. A bell rang as they entered, and a woman came out to greet them.

"Two for lunch. Do you have a preference where you're seated?"

"Yes, the balcony please."

"Right this way."

The woman, who wore an apron the same color as the awning, led them up a narrow stairway into a place filled with round tables which were mostly occupied. They went up another stair to the roof. There was no one else here despite the time of year because the wind was a bit chill. She seated them next to a planter full of red geraniums, and Robert ordered a large plate of fish before she left. He turned and looked out over the roof tops. He could just see the silver gleam of the river peeking through the trees. He closed his eyes and imagined the water molecules dancing there with bubbles of air gulped by fishes and covered by those ever present and annoying gnats.

"So why are we here?" Sherlock asked. Robert looked across at the boy who looked back, wide-eyed and curious, before he peered over the edge of the roof. "Is something going to happen?"

"Yes," Robert said. "I'm going to eat some fish."

"I mean besides that. Can you tell me now how you read people?"

Robert sighed. "It's not something I ever thought about teaching. It's just...I would have called it experience and said that everyone gets it eventually, but everyone doesn't. Maybe it's just using a touch of scientific observation. Trying to see things as they really are, but I find that most people don't ever really see the things around them."

"What do you mean?"

The waitress returned then, leading a man to a nearby table before going back downstairs.

"Look at that man," Robert said. "She seated him at a table for four. What can you tell me about the others who are coming to join him?"

Sherlock looked at the man. "I don't know. How can I tell whose going to sit with him? They aren't here."

"Look at him. Really look at him. His coat his bag. What do you see?"

"I only see a man in a red hoody with a black bag."

"That man is a father. He's waiting for a woman with long blond hair and a baby. He has another child, a girl about, I guess five or six years old."

Right then a woman with blond hair came up the stairs holding a baby carrier. Behind her was a young girl of about five. The mother put down the carrier and then zipped up her coat before reaching down to pick up the baby. Sherlock looked at Robert amazed.

"That was... how did you know from just looking at the man? How did you know there would be a baby? It's like ... you could see the future or something."

"I'm not looking at the future, Sherlock, but the past. Everything that you needed to know about who was coming, was there as soon as the man sat down. Look at him again. He's in his mid to late twenties. He is wearing a red hoody. He has a stain on his left shoulder. Tea? A bit too far from his mouth for that. It's from a baby drooling on his shoulder. Thus he is a father. This is supported by the baby bottle sticking out of the large black bag that he is carrying. It is a nappy bag. Why carry the bag unless you have the baby? Therefore, the mother is coming after, maybe she stopped first to go to the lavatory. There is a long blond hair on the handle of the bag. That tells us the color and length of the mother's hair. She probably carries it on her shoulder."

"But, how did you know about the other child?"

"They were seated at a table for four. There is a toy in the bag which is too old for an infant, but they did not request a child seat, so the child must be old enough to sit in a chair on her own, therefore she must be at least five."

"She?"

"The toy is pink."

"Oh!"

"You just have to use your eyes. With observation and a spattering of statistics, sociology, and psychology, you can tell all kinds of things about someone. But now, our lunch is here, so let's eat."

Sherlock stared at the family and back at Robert. The worship in his eyes was worrying. Robert didn't really like being a role-model, but he knew that if he was going to keep control of Sherlock he had to impress him first. It was a basic rule of teaching. Always start out strong, then the students will fall into line.

The next few days they went everywhere. They rode trains all over, predicting where each passenger would get off. They visited stores, predicting who would buy, and who would not. They cataloged the colors that people wore and correlated it to their ages until they could predict from a glimpse of a shirt the age of the wearer. Robert compiled the data into tables, and told Sherlock to memorize them. He had memorized the periodic table before, so it should be easy. Sherlock, however, had difficulty keeping track of so many random facts.

"It doesn't mean anything. I can't remember it all," he said.

"Alright then," Robert said with a sigh. "First thing tomorrow we will start your mental training. I'll teach you how to make a mind cottage."


	6. Six

Robert had new neighbors. They loved the tango, as evidenced by their habit of playing tango music at an insanely loud volume during the day. Robert couldn't imagine that mind exercises would work in such an environment, so he dialed up Mycroft, and by lunch time they were packed and snugged in the back of a car on the way to the Holmes' cottage.

He thought that it would take hours to get there, but it didn't. They were on the motorway, and then they were off it and surrounded by green trees. They drove up to a gate, and down a lane, and suddenly the door opened onto sunlight and bird song. He looked up and saw an airplane trail across the sky.

The cottage was much bigger than his flat: Three bedrooms, a living room with a fireplace. A large kitchen, and a green lawn with a garden in the back. There were no other people close by. You had to go down the lane and across a hedge to get to the next place, an imposing looking house that might also belong to the Holmes family. He didn't want to find out.

Sherlock walked in and claimed one of the rooms as his own. Robert took the one closest to the kitchen. "That's Mycroft's room," Sherlock said.

"Is he coming?"

"No."

"Then for now, it's my room. Go fix yourself a sandwich or something."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're a growing boy, you need to eat."

"I can't. I don't like to eat when I'm not hungry. My stomach moves around too much. It's distracting. I think better when I don't eat."

"Well, alright, but I'm not ready yet so go run."

"Run?"

"Didn't you say that you were trying to get...what did you call them, pirate skills? Well you need to stay physically strong, so I want you to go out there and run. Find a path and run as fast as you can. By the time we leave here, I want you to be able to get anywhere in this property before anyone else can: Before me, before a dog or a horse, before the car can get there even. So go outside, and run!"

Sherlock stared at Robert for a minute his eyes narrowing like he was puzzled, then he tore out of the door and down the walk running through the grass and jumping the hedge. Robert laughed, "Well that was easy. Now I can look around in peace." He started by looking through the kitchen. It was fully stocked, so he put the kettle on and rinsed out a teapot before pulling out ham and cheese and fixing himself a snack.

Early that evening, after Sherlock had returned, with leaves in his hair and scratches on his arms, Robert had him lie down on the floor and try to slow his breathing. Sherlock was trying, but not succeeding, because he couldn't stop moving. When told to lie still, he twitched and jumped and was too excited to keep his eyes closed.

Robert sighed. "Think of the vacuum," he said, and for a moment Sherlock was still, then his toes twitched and his fingers wriggled.

"What are you doing?" Robert asked.

"I'm batting around the atoms."

"What atoms? You're in a vacuum."

"You know that there are no pure vacuums on Earth. There's always a few atoms bouncing about."

"Not in this vacuum."

"But that's not realistic!"

"Oh Sherlock, what are we going to do with you? Maybe ... can you hum?"

"Of course I can hum. I can play music too."

"You play music?"

"Yes, violin."

"I didn't know that. Where is your violin?"

"I gave it up."

"Why?"

"Because Mycroft wanted me to become a musician."

Robert squatted down beside Sherlock. "Sit up for a minute, will you Sherlock." Sherlock sat up, crossed his legs, and slouched.

"So, tell me. Do you like playing violin?"

"Yes, I love it."

"Then why don't you play?"

"Because Mycroft likes me playing. He says it calms me down, and steadies me. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he's right."

"But...it's you who is harmed by this, not Mycroft. You don't get to do something that you love."

"I can't let him win! He's so smug. So self-righteous. It's as if he goes to the same club as God."

"Well, I don't know...maybe you could play badly when he's around?"

Sherlock sat up straighter, "The violin does make a wide range of noises, and Mycroft used to have ear infections when he was younger. I bet if I tried hard enough, I could probably burst an ear drum."

"Sherlock!"

He jumped up. "Do you mind if I call the house and get it sent out here? I'm sure mummy would pay for more lessons if I asked her. She was disappointed when I stopped."

"Go," Robert said letting Sherlock run off. He rose to his feet then, and went back to his room.

Robert closed and locked the door. He pulled a leather wallet out of his bag and opened it, staring at the picture of his family. His sister was there and his twin brother, Richard. He touched his face with a fingertip, and then put the photo away. Then he opened up Faraday's Chemical History of a Candle and read until bedtime.


	7. Seven

Once he had his violin, Sherlock was completely occupied by it. He played it from morning until night, so Robert spent the time taking long walks and eating picnics because, although he did practice actual songs from time to time, he also attempted to make the most annoying sounds possible. One day, he sat in the kitchen surrounded by an assortment of glass and crystal, trying to find the correct resonance frequency to break them.

Robert let him experiment. It kept Sherlock occupied, and gave him time to think about his life.

There was industry, the academic life wasn't for everyone. It was honored, respected, and encouraged mostly because it was the path that his professors had taken, but everyone couldn't become a professor. There were too few spots. He liked research, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't the research itself that he liked best. It was the speculation, the thinking, the visualizing, understanding how it all worked. It was like Sherlock had said all those years ago: learning is a goal in itself.

But Robert was an adult, and he knew that the modern world was built on skills. He could teach, but he really didn't want to teach ordinary children. Sherlock wasn't an ordinary child. He wasn't a child at all now. He was growing stronger every day.

The violin did calm him. He would close his eyes, and hold his breath, and after a music session, Robert could get him to stay still and empty his mind. He started with simple mysticism. He had Sherlock repeat simple phrases over and over in his mind for hours or even days. At first, he used short phrases such as, "_The universe exists_" and "_All things are knowable_".

Then he gave him longer phrases: "_When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains however improbable must be the truth_".

It was only after he could control his mind at will, that Robert taught him how to build a Mind Cottage.

"What's a mind cottage?"

"That's just what I call it. It is more commonly called a 'Roman Room'. It is a way for storing information by visualizing a place in your mind. Most learning uses so little of our brain, it's almost laughable. We teach you lists and you try to remember them by the sound, or the pattern. It's difficult to keep such facts in one's mind. Especially for any length of time. However, even people who are very old, even those with dementia can remember the layout of their childhood home, though they be separated by miles and many years.

"We are going to build a place in your mind. It can be your home. It can be some place you only imagine, but it should be some place where you feel comfortable because you will use it for a long time."

"What is your mind cottage like?"

"It's based on a place where I used to stay as a child. It was a cottage. Smaller than this one. It was only one room. I used to stay there with my brother. We'd go outside and play in the lake or climb a tree. It was a very strong memory, so when I heard of the technique, I decided to use that place as my model."

"You have a brother?"

"I had a brother. He's dead now."

"How did he die."

"He committed suicide."

"Why?"

"You're getting off track. We have to start building your Mind Cottage. Let's start with your family home."

"I don't want to use that."

"Why not? It will make it easy to remember your way around."

"You said that you had to feel comfortable there. I'd rather use this cottage."

Robert smiled to hear that Sherlock felt comfortable. "Alright. Let's start by imagining your room. You are lying on the bed, and it is morning. What is the first thing that you do?"

"Open my eyes."

"What do you see?"

"The ceiling."

"Then that will be the first of your loci."

"My what?"

"_Loci_, locations. They are places to store information. Later, I will give you details to remember based on the loci that we build today. You can use this first one to name the information if you wish to remember. For example you might imagine that the symbol for _Pi_ is written on the ceiling. Then in every other locus we will have one of the digits. First 3 then 1 then 4 do you understand?"

"I think so."

"But now, we will build the rooms."

It took several hours of work, and after the first hour Sherlock fidgeted constantly. When they had named each station through the course of an entire day from morning to evening, Sherlock demanded to be given something to remember.

"This is enough for one day."

"But I can do it."

"No, go to sleep."

"But I'm not sleepy."

"Your mind is. Go to sleep, now!"

Robert left then and prepared for bed. He locked the door and read for a bit before turning out the light. In the dark of evening he heard footsteps. He quietly went to the door and unlocked it peering through the crack to see Sherlock physically walking through the steps of his mind palace that he had based on this cottage. Robert went back to sleep".

The next day, he gave Sherlock the first 25 digits of _pi_ to memorize. He could recite it back ten minutes later, but he had trouble with the last digits by the end of the day.

"We need to go over your loci first. You're just learning them."

"No, give me more!"

Robert gave him the first 55 digits of _pi_. He learned those, but when he had to memorize 80, he struggled. He spent hours in the living room with his eyes closed mentally walking through the cottage and the grounds. When he made an error reciting them back, he threw a tantrum, knocking over chairs, throwing books, and screaming.

The third time that Sherlock threw a fit, he took the poker from beside the fireplace and threw it across the room so that it stuck in the wall right beside Robert's head.

"That's it, Sherlock. No more. You can't throw a tantrum like a child every time you fail. You endanger yourself and me. We are done with the mind cottage. I'm going for a walk. When I get back, I want to see this room clean."

Robert walked down the lane to the gate and sat for a while listening to the bird song and wondering what to do if Sherlock never learned to calm down. He called Mycroft's secretary and asked her to send the car for them noon the next day. Then he rose and walked back to the cottage. The living room was still a mess, but he could hear Sherlock playing on his violin. He ate a small meal, and then went to his room and slept.

In the morning he found Sherlock sitting quietly in his chair. As he entered Sherlock smiled and then recited the first one hundred digits of _pi_. "My problem was that the cottage was too small," he said. "I built another one, a bigger one, a _Mind Palace_. Now I have plenty of room to store things."

"That's excellent, Sherlock. Go take another run, and then pack your things. We're going back to town today."


	8. Eight

When they returned to his flat after almost two weeks in the cottage, Robert found that his mailbox, his phone, and his email were full of messages. The phone calls were from his sister. She had called on the day that he left, and had been calling repeatedly since then to check on him. The last messages were frantic, asking if she needed to come down or call the police. Given that their brother had killed himself when he was alone in his flat, he decided that this needed immediate attention, so he gave her a call and brought her up to date on the summer tutoring job, and the fact that he was now looking for another position.

"A life tutor? Richard, I'm surprised at you. Are you finally going to let someone get close to you again after the suicide?"

"No, Kate, nothing like that. This is just a job, and I'm Robert by the way."

"Oh God, did I say Richard? Oh I'm sorry, Robert."

"I understand. It's nothing. It's been years now. It isn't as if I'm still pining over him."

"But it's exactly like that. Do you remember when you used to date? When you had friends? You climbed up into your ivory tower and never got close to anyone else after Richard's death. It's not healthy. I wish you'd go to a therapist."

"Therapists are for people who want to change. I don't want to change, Kate. I'm happy the way I am."

"Unemployed? Tutoring a teenager?"

"I'll find another job. Don't worry."

"Well, if you run out of money, I still have a couch that you can lie on."

"Thanks. sis."

"Well, you do need reminding that you aren't completely alone. Call me from time to time, okay. I worry."

"I will. Goodbye, Kate."

"Goodbye."

Robert turned to find Sherlock staring at him with eyes full of betrayal. He turned and rushed out of the room. Robert replayed the conversation back in his mind, but he didn't know what had disturbed the boy. He decided to ask.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed. When Robert entered he looked up with a hurt expression. "So this is just a job to you? When it's over you'll just go away and leave me here. You don't even want to teach me. This is just something to tide you over until you get a job that you do like."

"Of course I want to teach you, Sherlock, but it is true that this is just a job to tide me over until..."

Sherlock jumped to his feet then, and ran out of the room. A few seconds later, Robert heard the front door slam. He ran after him, but Sherlock flew down the stairs at an alarming rate. Robert wasn't the one who had been practicing running everyday. He lost him. He pulled out his phone and dialed Mycroft. Then he climbed back up to his flat to read his mail.

The physical letters were mostly acknowledgements. "We have received your CV. Although we have no openings available at this time, we will keep it on file in case openings should occur in future."

One letter was interesting. It contained a ticket to the opening of the new History of Gases exhibit at the Museum. Lucille had written him a personal thank you and said that she would be very disappointed if he didn't come. She might have to be disappointed, because he didn't think that he wanted to go.

The most exciting thing was that his email included two interview requests. One was for the next day. Robert returned the emails immediately and then went to look in the wardrobe to see if his interview suit was clean.

Mycroft called that evening. "Dr. Bell, Sherlock has been found."

"Where is he?"

"Currently, he is at home. It's late, so he will sleep here but we can get him back to you in the morning."

"Can you keep him till tea time? I have an interview tomorrow morning."

There was a pause and then Mycroft continued in his silken voice. "Of course. He will arrive at four."

Robert filled the tub and took a bath. He closed his eyes and listened as tango music filled the air. Then he ate a microwave meal, and went to sleep.

In the morning, he dressed in his tan interview suit. He printed out three copies of his CV and put them into his bag before leaving. It was a smaller university, less prestigious, but still accessible by train. If he got the job, he wouldn't have to move.

Robert walked into the office and talked to the receptionist who asked him to wait. There were two other people waiting. A woman in a short skirt who looked like she was still in school, and a thin man in glasses who coughed nervously every few minutes. The door opened to reveal a room containing two or three interviewers. A woman in a black suit walked out, and the coughing man was called in. As the door closed, Robert sat back in his chair. He turned then and found Sherlock Holmes sitting in the chair next to him.

"Sherlock? How did you find me here?"

"I escaped the house early. You left your email open so I followed you here."

"But, how did you get here so quickly? You weren't there when I left."

"Didn't you tell me that I had to be able to reach my destination before anyone else? I ran. So, what do you think your chances are?"

"Well, I can't be sure until I've been in there, but it looks pretty good. They have multiple interviewers, so they are probably looking to fill the position quickly. There were probably others who came before I arrived. I don't know about them, but the woman who came out, the one in black, was frowning, and she left very fast. A sign that she's upset. She didn't even stay to shake the interviewer's hand, so she can't have been happy with her interview. The man inside now is coughing. He could be sick, but I think it's a sign of nervous tension. It's hard to make a good impression when you are nervous."

"And that woman there?"

"Too young. She can't have much experience, but I have four years teaching at a top University. And from the job description, I can't see that I'll have a problem with the material, so I'm not nervous at all. I think that I have an excellent chance to get this job."

Sherlock frowned. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of India ink that he poured over the front of Robert's tan suit. "How confident are you now?" he said before running out of the office and away.

The other interviewee gasped, and the secretary walked over to him, giving him a towel and a glass of water, but all they succeeded in doing is spread the stain around. It even stained his hands, so that when his name was called he didn't feel comfortable shaking anyone's hand and he didn't think that he made his best impression.

* * *

Sherlock was lying on the couch when he got back to his flat. He sat up, alert, ready to flee. "So, how did your interview go?"

"Terrible, as well you know," Robert said untying his tie. He removed the stained jacket, and threw it on the couch beside Sherlock. "This suit is ruined. You're buying me a new one."

"No."

"Yes you are. You're going to buy me a new interview suit with your own money, or I'll tell your brother and end the contract."

"You can't do that."

"Read the terms again. You will find that I can."

"I'm sorry."

"Good, now are you going to tell me why you did that senseless act of vandalism?"

"I need you to keep teaching me."

"I can't have a job, and be your tutor too?"

"No."

"Sherlock, the job was for the Autumn! You'll be in school then. I won't start work tomorrow, and even if I did, this is NOT how an adult communicates. We use words not ink."

"It was effective."

"Perhaps, but you need to stop this now! You will not interfere with my interviews. If you do, this stops right here. Do you want me to keep teaching you?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you must promise that from now on you won't interfere with my interviews. Do you promise?"

"But..."

"Promise!"

"I promise."

"Good, because I have another interview in two days and..."

"No you don't."

"What do you mean I don't have an interview?"

"I canceled it."

"Canceled it! How?"

"I told them that you already had found a position, and that you wouldn't work in their third-rate university even if they begged you."

"Sherlock, you didn't."

"I did."

"Then get out."

"But that doesn't count. I did it before I made the promise."

"Get out!"

"Please, don't kick me out. I've nowhere else to go!" Sherlock was hunched over, his head down, his eyes clamped shut. He clutched his stomach as if he was in pain.

Robert walked over to him, lowered his voice, and spoke calmly. "Sherlock. What's wrong?"

"Everything is!"

"What's everything?"

"The world, adults, everything. Nothing is right, nothing makes sense."

"But...the world is made of natural laws that are logical and understandable. The rules of the natural world are knowable and they make sense."

"The natural world may make sense, but people don't! Things go on, horrible things, and people don't see them. They don't care. People get murdered all around us, and even when I try to point it out nobody believes me."

"People get murdered? Sherlock, what are you talking about? Who got murdered?"

"Carl Powers."

"Who?"

"The swimming star, Carl Powers, was murdered, and I know it's true, but no one believes me."


	9. Nine

In the dim lamplight of the flat, with the faint sound of tango music in the background, Sherlock and Robert shared a pot of tea.

"Now, from the beginning. Tell me about Carl Powers."

"It happened soon after I left University. I was home for the summer holidays, and I was bored. We take all of the major newspapers, so I started reading them, and I found an article about a boy named Carl Powers who had died in a swimming accident. The story was written up in more than one paper, and the different accounts had slightly different information, but one of them had a picture of his locker, and there were no shoes in it."

"So what? What do shoes have to do with it?"

"Everything! He walked into the meet wearing shoes. He took them off to swim, but after he was dead, there were no shoes."

"Maybe he took them off nearer the pool and they were misplaced."

"His trousers and his socks were in his locker. Do you suppose that he took off his trousers and socks, but then put his shoes back on to go to the pool?"

"Then, someone must have taken them."

"Yes, exactly! And that is the person who killed him."

"But who would do such a thing, and why?"

"I don't know."

"How did they kill him?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure he was murdered. I can't explain it, but I'm positive."

"I see. Did you tell anyone?"

"Yes, I told Mycroft, and he got me in touch with the police, but they weren't interested in guesses by kids no matter how well-placed their family was. I talked to his mother, but she was useless. I even called the paper, but they refused to consider it. They called it 'sudden cardiac arrest', even though he had no history of heart problems.

"Mycroft told me to forget about it, but I can't. A murderer is still out there, and nobody cares. As long as they have their jobs, and their positions, and their relationships, then they don't care what happens to other people. They don't care about the truth.

"You told me that as scientists we should seek the truth no matter what it should be, and I did, but no one wants to hear it. It's not fair. It's not right. The world shouldn't work that way!

"I want you to teach me, I need you to teach me! Because I think that if I had known what I know now, I might have found the murderer back then. I could have just looked at him, at his collar or his cuffs, or his shoes and known who had done it and why. Then I could have told the police and Carl Powers would have found justice."

"Is that what you want to do, Sherlock, to find justice?"

"I want to find truth. To be able to explain it to people, to prove it when people lie. People lie all the time, and no one ever calls them on it."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but that was two years ago. He's dead and buried. Any evidence that would have been there is gone by now."

"I know. But it's like you said. No one really observes anything, and it seems like no one cares. And when I try to talk, no one listens to me. It's as if I don't even speak the same language they do."

Robert bowed his head in thought. Then he looked into Sherlock's eyes. "They don't speak the same language. They speak legalese. If you want to be able to talk to the police, you'll have to learn British Law."

"Law?"

"Yes, and you need to find out what caused this boy's death. If it wasn't a heart attack, what was it? You need to know a bit of anatomy and medicine. And if it was poison, you should know about botany as well. "

"Can you teach me that?"

"No, I don't know any of that. But I can teach you deduction and observation. The rest you can teach yourself."

"I want to start now." Sherlock said rising to his feet.

"No, Sherlock, running isn't the first step. The first step is readying your mind for all of the information that you are planning to put in it. If you want to learn so many new things, you'll need rooms for them. You need to revisit your mind palace and build them. Once you're ready, we'll go to the library and begin. So go take a shower and put on your dressing gown. You should be as comfortable as possible. I'll make you some toast and brew another pot of tea."

Sherlock nodded and went to the bathroom. Robert put on the kettle and the phone rang.

"Hello,"

"Robert Bell?"

"Yes."

"It's Lucille Sharma, from the museum. Did you get the ticket?"

"Lucille, so nice to hear from you again. Yes, I did get it."

"You will come, won't you. I'm really counting on it."

"Well, I wasn't sure, I have some other things on."

"Please, I need your help. There are some visitors coming from a museum in the States, and they are interested in possibly taking my exhibit on tour. It would be a headliner at science museums there and in Canada, but I'm not really the expert on this. You are. Please tell me you'll be there."

"I...I'll try. I may be bringing someone with me. A teen-aged boy. Would that be alright?"

"Bring whoever you want. Bring the whole family, just be there. I owe you."

"Well goodnight, Lucille."

"Goodnight, Robert."

Sherlock came out then, rubbing his wet curls with a towel. Robert put the bread in the toaster.

That evening, Sherlock spent several hours building his Mind Palace. He slept, and then worked on his loci again in the morning. Then they went to the library, and Sherlock began to memorize British Criminal Law. They started with general texts and worked their way toward codes starting with the ones concerning murder.

They came every day. At lunch they would sit on the steps of the library with a sandwich and a cup of tea and try to the deduce the people who passed. Robert refused to let Sherlock take home any of the law books, but he let him check out ones for his own amusement.

Sherlock had always been interested in animals, but now he checked out sensational books about serial killers and horrifying deaths. They didn't seem to be reliable sources to Robert, but everyone needed something to read for fun, no matter how morbid.

The days of summer passed quickly, too quickly. Soon Robert had to face the fact that Autumn term might start before he had found a new job.

One afternoon, Sherlock staggered into the flat with a huge bruise on his leg. When pressed, he explained to Robert that he had continued his running exercises in the city. He had missed a jump, and crashed full-on into a bicycle rack. He'd flipped over it, in fact. Robert covered his leg with ice and left him happily sitting on the couch with a stack of biographies of Jack the Ripper.

Robert was going out. He dressed in his new suit, the one that Sherlock had bought him. it was a stylish cut in a light grey-brown with a silken sheen and was more expensive and far better looking than anything he had ever owned. Sherlock had a excellent eye for fashion.

The museum opening was a large affair, especially to Robert who tended to avoid crowds. Lucille smiled surprised when she saw him. She grabbed his arm and shepherded him through the crowds. The exhibit was attractive. It highlighted many great British discoveries in the history of gases and the visitors were impressed.

"I think that this is exactly the kind of exhibit we want," said a man with the strong Texas accent. "I'm willing to sign you up right now, but we'll need you to come on tour with it, to take care of the equipment and explain things to the museum curators."

"I couldn't possibly," Lucille said. "I have this museum to maintain. How long do you expect this tour to be?"

"Six months at the very least for this exhibit, but we show new exhibits all the time. We'd be willing to offer you a permanent position as traveling curator if you're interested. "

"I'm sorry, but can't leave London. I have family."

"But we need someone to go."

"Robert, could you possibly take a term off of teaching to travel with the exhibit?"

"That would be dandy if you could come with us. You really seem to know your stuff."

"What do you think, Robert? Do you want to visit America? Will the university let you take a sabbatical?"

"I don't work for the University anymore. I resigned."

"You did?" Lucille said surprised.

"You did!" The visitor said delighted. "In that case, let me offer you the position of permanent traveling curator. There is this exhibit to start with, but we usually have five to eight science exhibits circling the globe at any one time. You'd be traveling with them to make sure the installations are done properly, and to check facts. I know it's not like teaching at a University, but you will be helping to spread understanding of science, and there will be lectures. Besides, it's an excellent opportunity to travel. So what do you say?"

"Yes, Robert," Lucille said smiling. "What do you say?"

* * *

That evening Robert went back to the flat with a smile on his face. It was about time for him to try something new. If he found that he really missed teaching, then he could always apply again in a year or so. And traveling was something that he had always planned to do, once he had made professor.

He had shaken hands with the man and accepted a verbal promise of employment. They would write up the paperwork tomorrow. Lucille kissed his cheek because his going had cemented the deal to send her exhibit on tour.

He opened the door to find Sherlock lying on the couch listening to his audio recording of 'War of the Worlds'.

"How did it go?" Sherlock asked.

"Wonderful", Robert said. "I was just offered a job."

"And are you going to take it?"

"Yes, I believe I am".

Robert hung up his suit, and went to bed only to be wakened at five thirty the next morning by a phone call. The silken voice on the other end of the line said, "Dr. Bell, this new job of yours is out of the question. There's no possible way that I can allow you to leave the country."


	10. Ten

Robert sat up in bed. He wiped his eyes and put the phone closer to his ear. "Excuse me, Mr Holmes. I must have misheard you. Did you say that that I wasn't "allowed" to leave the country? What business of yours is it whether I accept a job or not?"

"It is my concern, because Sherlock is my business."

"The initial contract ends in a week. I am perfectly within my rights to take whatever appointment I wish after the term is over"

"No. Sherlock is doing wonderfully. He is back on track. He is studying music again. He has stopped drinking and smoking, and he has only run away from you once. This is working. You can not leave now."

"I can and I will."

"We'll see about that. Good Day, Dr Bell."

The phone clicked closed and Robert sighed. This was too much to take so early in the morning. He needed some tea. He rose heavily from the bed then, and wandered toward the kitchen, to find his living room completely covered with family photos. All of his photo albums had been torn completely apart. "Sherlock! What are you doing with my photographs? Those are mine, and they are important to me!"

Sherlock was on his hands and knees on the carpet. He sat down near a clump of grouped photos. "I wanted to find out about your past, so I looked at your photo albums. You never told me that you and your brother, Richard, were twins. And you certainly never told me that he was a murderer."

Robert stared at the young man and then crossed his arms. "Such a statement has no relevance without proof. You know my methods. Prove it."

Sherlock smiled then and pulled out a series of photographs of two boys and then men standing side by side. "You and your brother, always together, until University. Then we see you going separate paths: He, into business, you into science.

He pulled out photographs of Robert with a series of women. "You dated in University so did your brother. Since your parent's death, you have visited your sister Katherine's house for the holidays. But your work was always important to you. There is a case, or a bag, or a book related to your studies in virtually every picture that you are in. It is one of the best ways to distinguish you from your twin brother. That and the colors that you wear. From a young age, your mother dressed you in lighter clothes than your brother. The bright twin, and the dark twin. How prophetic.

"But these two pictures tell the real story. Here is your brother and a woman named Mary Ann Maxim. It says on the back Richard and his fiance. They are both happy and smiling. They show all of the signs of being in love. This is from the summer. But by Christmas we see a different story. She's no longer smiling. Instead of wearing reds and greens she wears black. She is actively leaning away from him. His hand is clutched around her wrist. His nails digging into her flesh. And this picture was taken on New Years Eve. Richard is alone. Strange for an engaged man to go alone to a new year's party. This is the last picture that you have of him. There is, however, this picture three months later of you and your sister at a funeral that must be Richard's."

"Yes. Richard died that spring. But you haven't mentioned a crime? What led you to believe that Richard was a murderer?"

"Mary Ann. The way that she looked at him, as if she was afraid of him. I just had a feeling."

"A feeling? Feelings are not admissible in court. Only the facts matter. What facts do you have to support your case?"

"You don't deny that your brother killed her. Are you admitting that it's true?"

"I admit nothing. The burden of proof is yours."

"Alright." Sherlock said rising and leaping around the pictures to the kitchen table where Robert's laptop was open. He turned the screen to face Robert. "I looked up Mary Ann Maxim and found that she had been murdered. The report is dated January third, but she died earlier than this, on new year's eve. She had been raped and strangled.

"Although Richard was originally suspected, later stories claimed that she was the victim of the Black Neck Killer. A serial killer who had claimed two victims before her. They were found naked, with black bags covering their heads and bruising on their necks from where they had been strangled."

"So far, your evidence shows that Richard was not the killer."

"Yes, but this is only what the paper says. I needed more direct data, so I looked into the police archives."

"How did you get access to the police archives?"

"I used Mycroft's security codes. There were no clear leads on the Black Neck killer, but Richard was the primary suspect in Mary Ann Maxim's death. She had told her friends that she was increasingly unhappy with Richard up to the day of her death."

"Couples have broken up before without murder being involved."

"Yes, but the testimony of her friends said that she was considering leaving him, but she was afraid to. The picture supports that claim."

"And the Black Neck Killer?"

"One of the detectives thought that it was Richard, but they didn't have enough evidence. His hands were about the size of those that made the bruises on the women, but so are thousands of men. Also, the bodies were found late, and the time of death was not specific enough to show that he was unaccounted for at those times. But Mary Ann's death happened on New Year's eve at about ten or eleven o'clock. If they could show that Richard killed her, they could also link him to the other killings."

"Why didn't they?"

"Because of this picture here, new year's eve. He was at a party. Several people saw him there, alone. He entered at about nine, and stayed until after midnight. There were credit card receipts to prove it. Since no one could disprove his alibi, he was released."

"So far you've just shown that my brother could not have killed his fiance. What makes you think differently?"

"This photograph of Richard on New Year Eve."

"What about it?"

"It isn't Richard. It's you. You were at that party weren't you? You called yourself Richard because he had let you borrow his credit card. You were twins. It can't have been the first time that you've impersonated each other. Just switch your jumper for a darker one. Like you said, people never really observe those around them."

Robert walked over to the arm chair and sat down. Sherlock brought the photograph and sat on the arm of the chair beside him. "Over time, I've learned to recognize your face. There's a dimple right here that becomes quite pronounced when you are uncomfortable. You don't like crowds, so you can see it here. Your brother doesn't have it. Also look at what's near your hand, a spy novel. Who would take a novel to a party? You would. Your habit of always carrying something with you when you go out."

"This is all circumstantial evidence: A book, a dimple? You think that will be enough to overturn a ruling?"

"Not alone, no, but where did you tell the police you were on new year's eve?"

"I was doing a complicated production reaction. The Sanger-Bosch process. It takes fifteen hours to produce a product and it can't be left unattended."

"You were seen going into the lab. You were seen in lab the next morning. But it was when I heard your alibi that I first knew you were lying, because you taught me the short-cut. You taught me your trick that allows you to finish the entire reaction in five hours."

"Have you told anyone else what you've found?"

"No. Mycroft called when he noticed that I had stolen his codes, but I got rid of him by telling him that you had found a job."

"Your deductive skills are very good Sherlock, but I find one very important flaw in them."

"What is that?"

"The evidence does not discount the possibility that I am the Black Neck killer. If so, you have just revealed yourself to a murderer. And we are very much alone here. No one would question it if I said that you had just gone missing this morning. So Sherlock, what do you think of that?"


	11. Eleven

Sherlock stood up then and looked down at Dr. Bell. "You, a serial killer. No. That can't be."

"Why not?"

"All of the time we've been together, you've never acted, you've never shown..."

"That is not evidence. A psychopath can lie and deceive people. The facts, Sherlock! The facts are all that you can trust. If you think I'm not the killer give me evidence WHY I am not!"

Sherlock placed his fingertips against his lips and thought. "The book, the dimple. You were at the party at the time that Mary Ann Maxim was killed. You were there, not your brother. He was the one who had the time and the motive to kill his fiancée. She wanted to leave him. It was logical that they would be together then. You were mistaken for your brother, and you let them mistake you rather than take away his only alibi, but you must have suspected. You must have known then that it was true. Your brother WAS the Black Neck Killer, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that when you went to the party?"

"No. I was just feeling sorry for myself because... because I didn't have anyone. My brother and sister had found partners, but I was alone."

"You should tell the police."

"Why?"

"For truth."

"What good would it do for them to know the truth? What good would it do for my sister to know that her brother was a murderer? None. In fact, it would do her harm. Did you never wonder why I don't date anymore? It isn't that I'm not attracted to women. I have consciously chosen not to get involved with others.

"My brother called me, the day he died. He left a message on my phone telling me everything. He told me that he liked power. It turned him on. At first he was afraid to show his fiancée, so he took out other women. Did things with them. The first girl who died was an accident, but the second one wasn't. Mary Ann began to suspect that something was wrong. She tried to break up with him. He tied her down. Tried to reason with her, but the combination of the woman that he loved and the power became too much for him. He couldn't help himself. He loved Mary Ann. Her death destroyed him. Guilt destroyed him. He begged me to talk to him. To talk him out of killing himself. I got the message in time. I could have saved him, but I didn't. I let my brother kill himself.

"He was my twin brother. The closest person in the world to me, and yet, he became something...sick, twisted and dark. Many people believe that psychopathy is genetically determined. It could have been me. So, I avoid the addiction by becoming asexual. Crisis averted."

Sherlock stared at Robert as if he had never seen him before, and then he said with emotion in his voice, "Dr Bell, you are not your brother."

"I know," Robert said. "I'm smarter than he was."

Robert rose then and began to make tea and breakfast. Sherlock picked up the photographs. Afterward, Robert dressed and went to the museum to sign his contract.

The exhibit would remain on display in London for fifteen days before being shipped to a museum in Boston, Massachusetts. Richard would go a week or two ahead of time to prepare. He typed a resignation letter and handed it to Sherlock over dinner. They ate in silence, and then Sherlock went to the couch and lay down with his back to the rest of the room.

The first sign of trouble came when he tried to buy a plane ticket. Every request that he made was canceled. He went in person to the airport, and found that his passport was not in order. "Mycroft," he sighed.

Mycroft's office had cream-colored walls and red curtains. A portrait of the queen as a young woman hung behind his desk. "How may I help you, Dr. Bell?" Mycroft said in his mellifluous voice.

"You've done something to my passport so that I can't leave the country."

"But why would you want to leave the country, Dr Bell? There are so many opportunities right here."

"I haven't noticed any."

"Simply because you have not been looking in the right places." Mycroft slid a pamphlet across the desk. "East Hampton University, London. Not a large university, no, but one that is growing. They are looking for someone like you to head their Chemistry Department. They are not a big name in research. But they have it in their charter that they put teaching first. I forwarded a copy of your CV to them and they are interested, very interested. You have an interview set for Thursday. I'll send a car round. You don't have to worry about anything."

"I don't need you to find a job for me, Mr Holmes. I have already found one, and I want you to lift whatever black mark it is that is stopping the airlines from reserving my flight."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Bell, but I need you to remain a while longer. At least until Sherlock has settled into his new school."

"No."

"If you leave, Sherlock could regress to his old bad habits. He's entirely too smart for the schools that we can place him in, and too undisciplined to be on his own. You've done an amazing job with him. It would be worth a great deal to me if you would remain. I could double your current salary."

"My agreement is with Sherlock, not you."

"Sherlock doesn't need to know about our agreement. Let him think that he is still paying you. You'll be making much more than the museum can pay."

"I've already made my decision, but I think that the newspapers might be interested in hearing how a British citizen is being denied his right to leave the country."

"Dr. Bell, have you ever heard of the '_brain drain_'? Britain's finest minds are being lured away to jobs in other countries. It is in our best interests to do whatever we can to prevent that flight."

"You're going to have a hard time trying to use that argument with me. I'm an unemployed chemistry instructor, not one of the finest minds in Great Britain."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"You have no right stop me. I've already signed with my new job, and Sherlock has accepted my resignation."

"I think that you'll find that he has NOT accepted it. He is quite fond of you, Dr. Bell. I think that he would do almost anything to keep from losing you."

Robert thought of Sherlock alone in the flat. What would a fourteen year old think the best way to prevent someone from leaving would be. Cut up his identification card? Send more fake messages on his laptop? Burn down the flat?

He turned and left the office. Mycroft rose from his seat and said to his back, "Good day, Dr. Bell. I hope to see you again very soon."

He found Sherlock in his bedroom, cross-legged on the floor with a half-smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth. All of Robert's clothes had been dumped in a pile beside his bed. Robert batted the cigarette onto the floor and stomped on it. Then he picked up a shirt and looked at the row of cigarette burns across the front.

"You're buying me a new shirt," he said, "and I thought that we had agreed, no more cigarettes."

"What does it matter? In a few days, it'll all be over anyway."

Robert rubbed his hand across his hair and sighed in frustration. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled Sherlock up to sit beside him.

"Sherlock, let's have a talk man to man."

"How can we when I'm only a child?"

"Can you put aside your hurt for a minute and listen to me? You asked me to teach you how I read people. Did I teach you something useful, or did I lie to you?"

"You didn't lie to me."

"So my teaching was useful to you?"

"Of course."

"It was what you wanted to learn?"

"Absolutely."

"At any point did I try to cheat you or renege on our bargain?"

"No. I mean, no sir."

"Then why are you trying to cheat me? You accepted my resignation letter. Where is it by the way?"

"I burned it."

"Where did you burn it?"

"In the bathtub. Don't worry, I cleaned it up."

"Good. It's just... we made an agreement man to man, and a man should always honor his agreements."

"I don't want our agreement to end."

"Sherlock, my getting a job doesn't mean that I'll never see you again. But even if it did mean that, you should stand by your word, because that is what an adult does. And if you want others to treat you as an adult, then you have to act like one. An adult sometimes has to deny themselves what they want, in order to do what's right. You don't need me to hold your hand anymore. So, will you let me go?"

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"And when I'm gone, will you go to that new school and ignore the stupid people long enough to finish so that eventually you can do what you want to do?"

He bowed his head again solemnly.

Robert smiled. "I'm proud of you. I know that one day, you'll become a force for good in the world. Now, help me pack these things. We're going to run away."

Sherlock looked up sharply. "Really?"

"Yes. I am not naive enough to believe that your brother doesn't have this apartment watched. If I'm going to find a way to get to my new job, I'll have to break out of this cage first. Are you with me?"

"Yes!"


	12. Twelve

_A camera turns to follow a boy running out of the door of a block of flats. He is carrying a pair of suitcases. A man follows him down the steps, yelling after him. The boy stops at the corner and looks back at the man before throwing the luggage in the back of a mini truck paused at the traffic light. The truck pulls away taking the luggage with it. _

_The man runs after the truck, but he soon gives up. He turns back toward the boy who runs back into the building. The man runs his fingers through his hair, and then goes back into the building after the boy. _

_Fifteen minutes later the man leaves the flat carrying a stack of library books under his arm. _A woman with reddish hair stares at his image on the screen. She punches in the word LIBRARY and the screen breaks into four separate images. She watches as the man passes from one camera image to the next, then she turns and types into a form on yet another screen.

_She watches as he waits in the tube station, exits another station, walks down the pavement, and climbs the steps of the library. A red window pops up informing her that the average time spent by Robert Bell in the library is 1 - 4 hours alone, and 3 - 6 hours when accompanied by Sherlock Holmes. _

The door to the small office opens then and another woman walks in. "Hi Jane, anything new?"

"S had a bit of a temper tantrum and threw B's luggage on the back of a passing truck."

"He did! How annoying. I would've strangled the little brat for that."

"You wouldn't last ten minutes in the same room without killing him."

"Luckily we don't have to. But hang on, we were told to keep alert. You should send this one in. It's just the sort of thing that the_ young master_ wants to hear about. "

"Alright. I'll send an alert. How about this **'S throws B's luggage onto passing vehicle. B goes to library alone.' **Should I mention that he's an annoying brat?"

"No need. It's implied by context. Do you want some tea?"

"Please. This is an easy duty, but I can't help but be bored out of my skull most of the time. Remember when they were doing the meditating, or whatever that was, and they didn't leave the flat at all for three days. It took all my willpower not to fall asleep."

Well, at least we're getting paid."

"That's the truth."

"Okay then, let me get you that tea. Try not to doze off."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes skidded to a stop beside a rubbish bin across from the library almost careening into Robert. They both looked up at the camera pointed toward the library doors.

"Did you get the luggage back?"

"Yeah. I also got an offer of free tango lessons. Apparently, I have the legs of a champion."

"Great. Now we need to figure out how to get on a plane to the States."

"You'll not be able to. Mycroft will have blocked all of the flights to the Americas, but he won't be able to stop you from buying a ticket to the Continent."

"Won't he know as soon as I buy a ticket?"

"Not if you pay in cash. Mycroft's reach is long, but he doesn't control the entire British Government. At least not yet. If we go to a smaller airport, they might miss us entirely."

"I know of an airline that does commuter flights across the channel. My biologist associate used it to pick up samples of French tadpoles illegally. We should be able to sneak onto the next bus. Look it's coming."

"Wait," Sherlock said reaching into Robert's coat and pulling out his phone before throwing it into the rubbish bin.

"What? That was my phone!"

"He's installed tracking software on it. That's how he used to find me. Come on, the bus is about to leave."

They pulled plastic rain hoods over their clothes and walked to the end of the queue before mounting the bus and driving away. Some stops later, they got off and retrieved Robert's luggage before making their way to the airport.

* * *

Side by side in white plastic seats, they watched as small planes jockeyed around the airport runways. Robert looked at his large, yellow boarding pass before placing it in his pocket. "Thank you, Sherlock. I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without your help. If you want, you can stay for a while in my brother's flat on Montague street. The lease is still in effect for another two months. Once I'm in Paris, I'll be able to buy a ticket to the states and start my new career. Don't expect me to return soon though, I don't know what Mycroft will do to me if I do. So, I guess that this is where you and I part."

"Let me go with you."

"What?"

"Let me go with you. I know my chemistry well. I can help you."

"I can't take you with me, Sherlock. You're a minor. You have a family. It would be a crime."

"I can say that I'm your son."

"No."

"But Dr Bell... Robert, I don't want to leave you. You're my only friend."

Robert looked into Sherlock's earnest, loving eyes, then he pulled himself up straight, and his face became cold. "But Sherlock, I'm not your friend. I never was your friend."

"I don't understand. All that you've done for me. Isn't that... didn't you do that because you liked me?"

"I helped you because that is what I am supposed to do as your teacher. I told you before, I don't get involved with others. When I decided to let my brother kill himself, it was an intellectual decision, not an emotional one. I chose to do it, because my brother was evil. But he was still my brother. I should have felt compassion. My love for him should have been my primary motivation, but for me, the intellectual decision will always supersede the emotional one. In a way, this makes me as much of a psychopath, or should I say 'sociopath', as my brother was. I ignored his suffering. By definition, one could call my actions evil. But an evil person can still be a force for good in the world.

"I accepted the role of your teacher, not because I wanted to be your friend, but because your brother convinced me that without guidance you would become a chaotic element in the society. I did not want that, so I chose to help you. I am your teacher, Sherlock, but I am not your friend. I will not comfort you when you are upset. I will not bail you out of jail, or take a bullet for you.

"I am very proud of what you have accomplished, but I do not love you. Stay here. Do good. You have the power to become whomever you wish to be. Goodbye Sherlock."

Sherlock closed his eyes and bit his lip. Then he took a deep breath and all of the expression left his face. He stretched out his hand and said, "Goodbye Dr. Bell."

"Good luck," Robert said, then he picked up his suitcases and walked out to the waiting bus.

He climbed on board and sat down. When he looked back at the gate, Sherlock had already gone. The bus was rumbling, waiting for the last few passengers to board. He pulled his leather wallet out of his pocket and opened it to look at the picture of his family. It showed the three of them. Robert, Kate, and Richard. He touched Richard's face with his finger and smiled. Then he took another picture out of his pocket. It showed a curly-haired boy standing in front of a country cottage with a huge smile on his face. He smiled back at the photograph and kissed it before placing it in the wallet with the other picture. He closed the wallet then and hid it away above his heart.


	13. Coda

Sitting back in his armchair in his comfortable little house in Toronto, Canada, Robert Bell frowned at the image on his screen. He had just bought the tablet computer and for nostalgia sake he had subscribed to the online versions of a number of London papers only to find that his former pupil, Sherlock Holmes was dead.

He rose to his feet when he read the words FAKE GENIUS!

_"Fake! What do they mean fake? No pupil of mine is a fake."_

Robert put the pad down then and went to make himself a cup of tea. When he got into the kitchen, however, he changed his mind and made a pot. Then he went to his computer and searched for everything that he could find about Sherlock Holmes.

There had been a trial with a man called Moriarty. Yes, he had heard something about that. Afterwards, museum security had been completely reevaluated. He had consulted on a number of new security measures because of it, but he had never bothered to follow up on the original case, so he hadn't known that Sherlock Holmes had testified at the trial. What surprised him most was not that Sherlock Holmes had testified, but that Moriarty had walked free. Something was wrong if Sherlock Holmes' testimony wasn't enough to close a case. He hadn't failed in that regard before. Not since Carl Powers. Maybe there was a connection between the two.

Working in a museum had allowed Robert to meet a number of people who were good at digging up information. He emailed them and began to compile data on James Moriarty and Richard Brook. The fact that Rich Brook meant the same thing as Reichenbach was not missed on him.

Something was going on that wasn't obvious, it wasn't clear. As his colleagues sent him information, a picture began to build up. A picture of a conspiracy that spanned around the world and back in time even as far as the Carl Powers case. Sherlock was right. The others had been wrong to look the other way and let a murderer go free.

He combed through the newspapers and other more obscure sources until he had compiled a dossier on the entire organization. Someone, codenamed M, had started a small crime organization in London. It had branched off to Dublin and then Romania and the rest of Europe before extending out to India and other parts of Asia. It was vast, and yet unseen. A criminal network responsible for thousands of crimes, and yet no one seemed to know about it. He made a copy of his findings and hid them in his old university files under exams. Then he sat in his armchair wondering what to do.

There was always Mycroft Holmes. He could send him a copy of his findings, but Mycroft was sure to have his own sources of information, and Robert did NOT want to remind Mycroft of his existence now, not when he must be grieving over his brother's death.

But it was Sherlock's death that puzzled him most. Why would Sherlock kill himself? He never had seemed particularly suicidal, and he would never do such a thing once he was on a case. His need to understand, to find the truth was so great, that he would never stop until the puzzle was solved, and this was such a puzzle. So many pieces of this web existed still. Why would Sherlock kill himself when there was so much to deduce, so much left to reveal?

That was why he was only slightly surprised when he noticed a shadow on the carpet before him.

"Hello again, Dr Bell," said the tall man in the long coat standing in his parlor door.

He smiled. "Don't you Holmses ever knock?"


End file.
